Santa Assignment

Colton stuck out his tongue in a yuck gesture. “I threw up again.”

“It means you’re getting well. All the bad junk’s leaving your body.”

A lie, no doubt. It was probably one of the side effects of the chemo.

Brayden glanced at her. “Are you ready to go?”

No. But Ashley knew she should go. The nurse had made it clear that she should keep her visit short because Colton needed his rest. “Sure.”

Brayden kissed Colton again. “I’ve got some things to do,” he whispered to his son. “But I’ll be back later to tuck you in.”

“Uncle Garrett’s coming, too?” Colton asked, excitement in his eyes and voice.

“You bet. And I won’t tell the doctors if he sneaks you in some candy again.”

Colton smiled in that oh-so-secretive way that only a child could manage. “Don’t tell ’em Aunt Katelyn did, too.”

“Hey, short stuff,” Katelyn quipped, looking up from the paperback she held. “Zipped lips, remember? Gummy bears are our little secret.”

The moment seemed well past being private. And much too intimate. Ashley murmured a goodbye to Colton, another to Katelyn and headed for the door. However, she barely had time to regain some semblance of composure before Brayden joined her in the hall.

“He’s a smart kid,” she said, because frankly she had no idea what else to say.

Brayden made a sound of agreement and started up the hall. “He’s had a rough time lately. He caught a stomach bug right after chemo. That’s why the masks are necessary. His immune system already has enough to deal with.”

So did Colton and Brayden.

So did she.

That didn’t mean they didn’t have to deal with more. And that was something Ashley couldn’t put off much longer. Not after what she’d just witnessed.

“Colton’s worried that he’ll be in the hospital for Christmas,” she let Brayden know.

“God, I hope not, but there’s always a chance of that happening. Still, the doctors think he’ll be home in a day or two.”

Home, but not for good. Probably only until the next round of chemo.

They went through the automatic exit doors and walked outside. The night air was cold. Not a Virginia kind of bitter cold, but it was enough of a chill that Ashley put on her coat and pulled it tightly around her.

As she always did when she stepped into a parking lot or even her own driveway, she looked around. Checking. Making sure no one was lurking. Because even after two and a half years, the fear was still there.

“Could you drop me off at a hotel?” she asked when they approached his car. She checked the time. Almost seven. “I don’t want to fly back to Virginia tonight.”

He nodded. “I inherited my grandparents’ house last year, and even though I still have a lot to renovate, the guest room is finished. You can stay there if you like.”

It sounded like an obligatory invitation. And a halfhearted one. Ashley considered letting it pass, but frankly she was tired of this. “Look, Brayden, I think it’s time we cleared the air. Don’t you?”

He didn’t look at her. What else was new? “This isn’t easy for either of us.”

He made his own sweeping glance around the parking lot, a cop’s glance, and opened the car doors so they could get inside. When he started the engine, Ashley was sure he’d just drive away and ignore the verbal gauntlet she’d tossed.

He didn’t.

“When I see you,” he said, his words clipped and precise. “I can’t help it. I think…”

“Of Dana,” she finished. “I know.”

“Of that night,” he added, getting right to the heart of the matter.

She nodded. Not that he saw her. He had his attention focused on the parking lot. “That night’s always with me, too.”

The night her sister was killed. Gunned down by an unknown assailant. Except most people suspected that unknown assailant was really Hyatt Chapman.

Ashley’s former friend.

Her former client.

Just hours before the shooting she’d helped him get the lightest possible sentence for an aggravated assault charge. Ashley had done that knowing full well that Hyatt was mentally unstable.

Situational ethics, some would say.

Doing her job, others would say.

Either way, she was wrong, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Her sister had paid for her mistake with her life. Though heaven knows, Ashley had tried to undo some of the damage by finding Dana’s killer. For two years, seven months and four days, she’d gone over every piece of evidence, every nuance of the case.

Two brothers. Trevor and Hyatt Chapman. They’d grown up with Dana and her. Along with the other player in the saga—Miles Granville—the man that Hyatt and Trevor had allegedly assaulted during a drunken rage because of a business deal gone bad. Miles was also her former boyfriend. Basically, those prior relationships made the case an ethical hornets’ nest and one she should never have taken.

And Ashley would regret her decision for the rest of her life.

“You can’t forget I withheld evidence about Hyatt Chapman’s psychological profile and indirectly allowed Dana to walk into ambush,” she reminded him.

“I can’t forgive it, either. I’m not even sure I’ve tried. Hell, I’m not sure I want to try. And you can’t forgive me for putting Dana in a place that made her feel as if she couldn’t come to me with the truth.”

Yes. Because if Dana had thought Brayden would give Ashley’s recently escaped client—Hyatt—a chance to surrender, then Dana might not have gone to that meeting. She might have sent Brayden instead.

And Dana would be alive.

And Brayden and Ashley wouldn’t be here having this conversation.

Instead, Dana and he would be trying for another baby. Or perhaps they’d already have one. Either way, Ashley was partly responsible for Dana no longer being alive and that made her partly responsible for Colton’s fate. The only problem with being partly, however, was that in this case, it felt overwhelming.

The silence closed in around them, and Ashley blew out a long breath. “Sheez, that was a vanilla argument, considering our past. We spelled out our sins with no gnashing of teeth or yelling. That’s a far cry from that night when you told me I hope like hell I never see your face again.”

“Yes. A far cry from the night you told me that I’d all but put a bullet in my wife.”

Yes. Those were her words all right. Each bitter one of them.

“Far cries aside,” she murmured, “you still haven’t seen my face.”